


Polaroid Pictures

by meggiewrites



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Boys In Love, Check Chapters for Ratings, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:07:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggiewrites/pseuds/meggiewrites
Summary: Captured the look in your eyesLove is a polaroidA collection of short stories written for prompts I received on tumblr.
Relationships: Alexander Nübel/Niklas Süle, Benedikt Höwedes/Mats Hummels, Bernd Leno/Marc-André ter Stegen, Julian Draxler/Matthias Ginter, Thomas Müller/Manuel Neuer
Comments: 48
Kudos: 49





	1. Steno I

**Author's Note:**

> Short ficlets ranging from 800 to 1300ish words. Unbeta'd, ships and ratings will vary – please check chapter titles and summaries! I will upload one these every day until I've posted all of them.
> 
> Enjoy :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steno + “Look at you… Goodness, you’re so cute.” (General Audiences)

The first rays of the rising sun were seeping through the mint-coloured blinds, bathing the room in a warm, golden light. Barcelona mornings often had this quiet beauty to them, especially now, in summer, when Marc was usually awake before the rest of the city and everything was still silent, only disrupted by a few cars a few streets away, a cat meowing on a roof on the other side of the street or the bell of a bicycle chiming.

Usually, he’d slip out of bed now, his feet cold on the wooden floors, and make himself a cup of coffee first thing – but today was different.

Today, Marc woke up to a head on his chest, soft snores sending tiny little tremours through his body, a heavy arm thrown across his stomach and blond curls tickling his nose.

Bernd hadn’t planned to stay, originally, both of them were aware of that all too well. But somehow, things weren’t how they had been a few years before – they were older now, though probably not wiser, and tired of the cat-and-mouse games of their youth. Or at least, Marc was. 

So when Bernd had been ready to get out of bed once the afterglow had passed, to go to a hotel or straight back to the airport to catch a flight to London, or to do god knows what, Marc had reached out and taken his hand.

“Stay,” he had whispered, and surprisingly, that had been all it took.

He hadn’t been able to suppress a smile when Bernd had slipped back under the covers, almost grumpily, but yet not protesting when Marc had pulled him towards his body until Bernd’s back was flush against his chest. In fact, Bernd had just sighed, and it hadn’t been a conceding sigh but one that sounded relieved … happy, almost.

And as pathetic as it might sound, that had been enough for Marc’s heart to flutter shyly and for something like hope to blossom in his heart.

Looking down at Bernd now, still asleep in his arms, Marc was still sleepy enough to not deny the thought, the  _ confession _ that he would like him to stay there forever. 

Bernd looked boyish curled into him like this, younger than he’d ever seemed – probably, Marc thought, because when they had actually only been boys, Bernd had always looked at him with a face distorted by disgust and anger.

How foolish they had been.

Maybe, if they’d stopped clashing over their differences and their rivalry when they’d been younger, maybe they could have seen how much they actually had in common a lot earlier.

Marc sighed, slowly lifting his hand, brushing one astray curl out of Bernd’s forehead. Marc liked when Bernd’s hair was this long, and unstyled so it turned into perfect little ringlets instead of being gelled back and almost glued to his head. It made him look more like Marc’s lover instead of his former arch-nemesis. With a soft smile tugging at his lips, Marc let his fingertips ghost over Bernd’s cheekbone, thumbing over it, hesitating only shortly when Bernd blinked his eyes open, looking at him with a mix of confusion and strange wonder.

“Morning,” Marc whispered, as if he could break the fragility of this morning if he spoke too loudly.

“‘rnin’” Bernd mumbled, burying his face in Marc’s chest again, obviously not willing to face reality yet. Marc chuckled at how much he looked like a drowsy kitten because of it, continuing his soft caresses, moving down to stroking Bernd’s shoulder, then to his side, his heart hammering against his chest when that caused Bernd to giggle in tiny little hiccups. 

Marc hadn’t known he was this ticklish.

Goodness. “Look at you … You’re so cute.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud; almost regretted it when Bernd flinched, his face suddenly open, vulnerable, but his eyebrows drawn tight in a way that clearly meant that he was ready to get up and pull up his defences should he need to.

Marc had no intention to give him a reason. He sighed.

“I’m sorry. But – I meant it. You … this is perfect. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you stayed.”

And just like that, he’d done what he should have done months, possibly years ago. He’d put his heart out on his sleeve, and offered it to Bernd to take.

For just one second, he feared that the slightly older goalkeeper might take it as a possibility to crush it. But instead, Bernd reached up, engulfing Marc’s hand with his own. Both their palms were rough, the backs of their hands littered with tiny scars. Goalkeeper hands, so similar but yet so different in the individual stories they told.

“I wanted to stay. Thanks for …” Bernd hesitated, “thanks for letting me.”

Marc squeezed his hand, gently, tightening the arm he still had around Bernd’s waist as his lover’s hair was tinted golden by the sun, the air around them growing hotter with the second.

“Always.”

And already, he knew that maybe for the first time, both of them would be ready to admit that they’d rather not have to say goodbye.


	2. Neuller I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neuller + “I didn’t ask you to do that!” (General Audiences)

Not hiring a moving company had seemed like a good idea at first. After all, they had more than enough time to move everything out of the Berlin apartment on their own, considering they both had been facing retirement for a good few years now and had more free time that they knew what to do with.

But then, after they’d already stored all the bigger furniture they intended to keep and bring back to Munich into the back of a truck with the help of a few neighbours and had bid them all goodbye afterwards – because surely, with the help of an elevator, moving a few lamps, books and side tables downstairs couldn’t be that difficult – said elevator had broken down.

Which, to quote Thomas, was “ever so slightly inconvenient”. 

Well, Manu thought, while he was finishing packing up the last of the cardboard boxes, storing the last handful of books into them, that was one way to put it.

He’d bought this place when he’d not even been thirty, hadn’t dated Thomas yet and real estate investments had still been a good idea. Now, as he was approaching his mid-seventies faster than he would ever like to admit, looking after the additional property was just a hassle to deal with, especially since they never really used it anymore anyway. 

Some time about ten years ago, constantly switching their living quarters – if only for a couple days a month – had lost its appeal. 

Maybe it had started when Manu’s feet had started aching every morning when he got out of bed, or when Thomas started coughing every winter and blamed it on the dry air each time but they both silently suspected that it was probably something more permanent than that. Or maybe big city life just wasn’t for them anymore – Manu didn’t really know. He didn’t really care, either, but in the end he’d just been glad when he’d finally made the decision to call a real estate agent.

It would be a family of four buying it, she had informed them. Manu was pleased with that. He’d always liked children, even though Thomas and him had never had any of their own, and as his eyes flicked through the hallway, he imagined tiny little feet running around on the warm-toned wooden floorboards, climbing up on the window sills to peer down at the little park in the inner courtyard or trying to reach up to the kitchen counters to snoop in their parents’ pans.

Yeah, it would be a place well suited to a young family, he thought, only shaken out of his musings by a loud shuffle, causing him to lift his head.

Thomas had appeared in the doorframe, crouching down, picking up the last one of the cardboard boxes right from underneath Manu’s nose. Frowning, Manu realized that he must have already hauled the rest of them downstairs too when he hadn’t been paying attention.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

He hated the annoyance in his own voice, but he knew that Thomas must be out of breath by now, that he shouldn’t have done all of this on his own–

His husband grinned one of his sparkling grins, one that still made him look like the young man Manu had fallen in love with over forty years ago. Thomas still had the same youthful air to him, even with his salt-and-pepper hair, the crinkles by his eyes deep and the laughter lines by his mouth countless. Only when Manu looked closer, taking in his body that had once been lithe with lean muscle, and how almost fragile he seemed now in comparison, taking in his posture that was a little more bowed, reminded Manu that even Thomas hadn’t escaped the years unscathed.

“I’m fine, sweetheart, don’t worry.” 

Thomas winked. His voice was raspier than it used to be, too, but Manu loved it that way, the way it always felt like a tender caress in the mornings, how it reminded him that he’d been so lucky, being able to wake up with his head on Thomas’ chest for forty-three years now.

Yet, Manu felt his eyebrows draw tighter together, something coiling in his stomach as he pressed his lips tighter together. He didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t as foolish as to believe that Thomas hadn’t noticed his disapproval.

His husband sighed, putting down the box with a tiny little groan, before crouching down, mustering Manu intensely.

“I know you hate it when I don’t let you help, but–”

Manu just barely suppressed a huff. They’d known each other for fifty years, and yet, in moments like this, it was still a bit annoying, how easily Thomas was able to read him – even if it was not surprising in the least.

Thomas extended his hand, gently putting it on Manu’s, thumbing over his knuckles and over the spots that had appeared on the back of his hand over the past few years.

“Babe, I saw you rub your knees half an hour ago. I don’t want you to hurt any more than necessary.”

God, Thomas. Sweet, considerate, amazing Thomas.

Manu hated it, hated how sometimes, now more than ever, it was obvious that his husband was the younger of the two of them, that he had obtained less injuries during his active career. Hated how his feet and his knees were giving him trouble every day, and how, apart from weekly physio sessions that only could only do so much to relieve the chronic pain, this was something he had to live with. He hated how it restricted him, how he wasn’t able to go hiking anymore, how he had to take breaks and sit down occasionally when he took their dog for a walk. 

In the end, he knew it couldn’t be helped, and he was thankful that Thomas was looking out for him; but sometimes it was a tough pill to swallow, that the ache in his legs would never fully fade anymore. But still, the warmth pooling in his stomach as Thomas looked at him so fondly managed to override the bitterness so effortlessly, and so, he bit his tongue, and instead allowed a smile to take over his features.

“Thanks, Thommy,” he mumbled, getting up with a repressed groan.

After sitting on them for half an hour, his knees felt a lot worse for wear. Begrudgingly, he once again silently admitted that his husband had been right, just like he’d always been, for all those years.

Thomas’ responding smile was as warm, and when he reached out, putting his hands on Manu’s waist, pulling him closer, Manu had no intentions to stop him. Thomas’ lips met his cheek, his beard scratching at Manu’s skin in a way that was so comfortingly familiar, the same way his laughter was balm to his ears and his hands the anchor to his silly heart.

But it was only when they closed to doors of the van, Thomas getting behind the wheel, humming a song they’d heard on the radio earlier that day, slowly steering them out of town, that Manu realized:

They might be old, and grey, and their bodies were constantly giving them grief, but throughout all of it, every bump, every hiccup, they’d always had each other.

And growing old with the love of your life, being just as besotted with each other, if not more, than when they’d shared their first kiss?

Yeah, that made Manu feel like the luckiest man in the world.


	3. Nüle I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nüle + “You’re such a dork.” (General Audiences)

Delayed flights were never enjoyable. Especially not when traveling with the team, Nikki decided. Everyone was a little bit grumpy from being stuck in the bus for longer than expected, ready to stretch their legs, to get something to drink – instead, they’d been immediately herded to a small, stuffy lounge where there wasn’t even enough room for everyone to sit. That they had to wear suits didn’t help, either.

With a little huff, Nikki fiddled with his collar, re-adjusting his tie. It felt too tight, quite uncomfortable, and he longed to just pull it off and put it into his backpack instead, but when one of their staff gave him an angry glare, he let go, pushing his hand into his pocket instead.

Looking around, the mood felt as tense as his back was feeling. Considering it was a Champions League quarterfinal, this game was an important one. They were on the second leg, and things weren’t shaping up to be all that easy. They were professionals, but that didn’t mean that they were immune to stress; on the contrary – right now, everyone could feel it.

Nikki sighed, knotting his fingers in the surprisingly soft fabric of his pants.

He startled a little bit when someone plopped down on the seat next to him, empty after Jo had gotten up to go to the toilet, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his lips when he realized who it was.

Alex’s smile was tender, cheeky.

Of course  _ he _ had nothing much to get stressed about. Okay, he was probably feeling the same tension as everyone else, but with Manu set to start, he probably wouldn’t even have to put his gloves on. Still, Nikki appreciated the hand the younger put on his shoulders, softly kneading it.

“You okay, bean?”

The nickname still made Nikki’s stomach hop in happy little jumps, butterflies fluttering their wings. Their relationship was still fresh and new at this point, and yet Nikki hoped he’d never lose this excited appreciation he had for the way Alex’ eyes lingered on him, so caring and appreciative.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Alex quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t exactly sound it, though. Come on, this is not your first rodeo. What’s different this time?” His left hand continued its caresses, as if he didn’t even care that someone might see.

Nikki gnawed on his bottom lip – he didn’t even know, actually. He wondered if there even was anything that had changed, because honestly there wasn’t anything, except–

“This is the first time you’re there, watching.”

That made his boyfriend snort. “You’re such a dork. I’ve been here for almost ten months.”

Nikki grinned. “But I’ve never played a quarterfinal in front of you.”

But even to that, Alex had a quick answer. “Bold of you to assume I never watched Bayern on TV.” He’d have been stupid not to, of course, but it was the next part that takes Nikki by surprise. “Had to keep an eye on their cute centerback, didn’t I.” He winked, and Nikki felt himself blushing.

He shoved at Alex’ shoulder, and Alex chuckled. It was a low, soothing sound that made Nikki’s stomach feel warm and he wished that he could just lean in and place a quick kiss on his boyfriend’s lips.Instead, he just leaned his upper body towards Alex’ until their shoulders were touching and Alex’ arm was wrapped tightly around him.

Suddenly, the dreary lounge felt a little more bright and welcoming, and Nikki wondered how he’d ever coped without having him by his side. Now that he knew how comforting was, to have your other half right there by your side before difficult games, he was almost a little bit jealous of the couples on the team who’d had this for years already.

Time passed slowly, as if through a train window, but eventually, once the sun had sunk lower and was tinting the entire room orange, Jo came back, shooing Alex away just as someone informed them they had to wait another twenty minutes or so before they could finally board their flight. Nikki pouted but Jo only rolled his eyes, muttering something about sappy idiots, but then Alex simply sighed before plopping down in Nikki’s lap, ignoring the strange looks he got for it.

He leaned back until his back hit Nikki’s chest, and it took a lot for Nikki not to wrap him up in his arms, this surprisingly lean body, those strong goalkeeper arms. Instead, he found Alex’ hands in between the seats, entwining their fingers, Alex’ fitting between his own so perfectly, as if they’d been made for it.

Their eyes locked, and they shared a gleeful look, Alex’ smile sunshine and his touch like the first cup of warm coffee in the morning. And Nikki? 

Nikki was at home.


	4. Neuller II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neuller + “Kiss me again.” (Explicit)

The snow is falling heavily outside, turning the world into a slower place, drowned in quietude. It is almost midnight, everything is silent and the sky is tinted pink. A few feet away, the fireplace is crackling, unbothered by the couple in the armchair.

Thomas hasn’t noticed any of these things.

Of course he wouldn’t. After all, his attention lies elsewhere.

As of now, Manu is sitting in his lap, fully naked, wrecked, his skin shining with a thin layer of sweat, his hair floppy and unstyled, the longest strands almost falling into his eyes – eyes that have a look in them that’s dazed and wild. He’s flushed all over as Thomas runs his hands up and down his sides, caressing them with a firm gentleness that’s in tune with the rhythm to which Manu is bouncing up and down on his cock.

It’s an intoxicating image, impossible to forget – Manu, illuminated only by the light of the fire, so engrossed in the act of their lovemaking that he seems to have stopped paying attention to their surroundings; shockingly beautiful, at peace, submitting to his own pleasure to a point where he almost looks feverish.

Thomas could honestly look at him forever.

But also, Thomas could quite possibly fall asleep every second.

This is the third time that night that they’re having sex. For the second iteration, they had enjoyed the comfort of their couch, and once they’d finished, Thomas on his back and Manu laying on his chest, sighing, eyes closed in bliss, Thomas had assumed they would simply go to bed. But then, as Manu had gone to brush his teeth, Thomas had moved over to the big armchair by the fireplace to wait, and once Manu had come back, somehow, a spark must have struck him.

Thomas recognized it immediately. Manu has a special glint in his eyes whenever he is getting turned on, a spark that was there only then, one that made him look sinful, almost devilish. It had been no surprise when he’d stalked up to the armchair with the single-mindedness of someone who knew what they wanted, pushing off his boxers again and plopping down on Thomas’ lap before Thomas could even complain.

He’s come a long way from the man who had been almost too shy to voice his sexual preferences to Thomas, and while that fills Thomas with pride, he was and still is too tired for yet another round.

He’s whispered the words into Manu’s skin, trying to entice him to move to the bedroom at least, but Manu didn’t listen, and instead pushed down further, faster, increasing the pace at which he rocked his hips, taking what he wanted, silently but insistently convincing Thomas that this has indeed been a good idea.

His words are slurring together now, but Thomas can’t stop the string of words leaving his lips, muttering them into the crook of Manu’s neck as his husband’s strong arms tighten around his shoulders, voice hoarse and worn and wrecked.

“Such a good boy, Manu, you’re so beautiful. So beautiful babe, so great. I love you, keep going, yes, y–es …”

Manu preens at his words, his whine high-pitched and wanton, followed by a series of whimpers and tiny moans that he hides just so in Thomas’ neck. Looking down, Thomas can see the marks he’s left all over Manu’s body; his chest, his pecs, his stomach. He knows they decorate his plump buttocks as well as those thighs, knows how each and every one of them made Manu gasp and whimper.

He’s a wonder, his husband is.

Manu rocks his hips again, his dick bouncing between them, red and hard, as he’s looking at Thomas below fluttering eyelids and with a wicked smile on his lips.

Thomas moans, and his hand comes up to rest on Manu’s neck, pulling him closer.

“Kiss me again,” he whispers, and Manu obeys, surging in to capture Thomas’ lips with his own in a kiss that feels like ultimate fulfilment.

Manu comes between them like a pipe cut open, emptying his load between them, and his walls cramping around his pulsating dick is all Thomas needs to follow him over the cliff.

Their foreheads are pressed tightly together and Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever felt closer to any human being ever before. He holds Manu in his arms, and he has everything he could ever want.

He chuckles, kissing Manu again. When they part, Manu rubs his head against Thomas’ neck like a kitten before leaning back, his hands still on Thomas’ shoulders. His eyes are clearer again, ice-blue like the sky early on a spring morning, and he pulls Thomas with him as he stands up, not letting go.

Thomas’ legs feel like jelly, and from the way Manu is swaying slightly, he can tell that his husband must be no different. They exchange a last peck, and just as Thomas wants to turn, tugging Manu towards their bedroom to (finally) succumb to the tiredness that has been sleeping in his bones, his foot gets caught on the edge of the carpet.

For a second, Thomas still attempts to steady them, but the effort is in vain. In a tumble of limbs and with a loud bang, they faceplant onto the ground; Manu onto his back and Thomas right on top of him. At first, Thomas is worried that Manu might have hurt himself, but then Manu just throws an arm over his face with a giggle that quickly morphs into a full-belly laugh, one that Thomas can’t help but join as he starts to trace swirls onto his husband’s chest.

And while the snow is still falling outside, the two lovers fill the quietude with their joy as they finally get up a few minutes later, walking towards their room side by side.


	5. Hömmels I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hömmels + “I like that you make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt.” (General Audiences)

It’s almost midnight, and Mats is drunk. Above him, the stars are sparkling, and as he kicks a pebble ahead of his feet, for just one second, he wonders what the heck he’s doing. He’s twenty years old, and every logic in the world tells him that he shouldn’t feel like this – not so soon, not when he’s still this young, when he hasn’t even had these feelings for long.

But he can’t help it.

See, Mats Hummels is fully, irrevocably, truly, madly, deeply in love.

That in itself is nothing new, of course. Already a month back, he fell so quickly for his fellow U-23 centreback – for Benedikt Höwedes. Benni is older than him by a good ten months, a Schalke player with galaxies all over his cheeks and sunshine in his eyes. And Mats is lucky, because Benni feels the same for him too. They’d confessed, they’d kissed, they went their separate ways for a few weeks of holidays and then they’d reunited. Everything since then has been pretty much out of a dream, but still, there’s something Mats hasn’t done yet. Something very important.

His head is swimming, and this time he’s sure that it’s not only the alcohol that is making it spin. Because Mats Hummels, drunk and clumsy as he may be, is on a mission.

Of course, all his friends slash teammates have told him it is a terrible idea. They’re probably right, too, but at this point, Mats couldn’t give more of a fuck.

He can’t believe he hasn’t told Benni yet.

It hit him out of nowhere, really, when he’d been nursing his fourth beer, talking to Neven, Schmelle and Nuri. He almost dropped his glass when he thought of it, gaping at the red brick wall in front of him. Schmelle had waved his hand in front of Mats’ eyes, but not even that helped. No, instead, Mats suddenly scrambled up from his chair, throwing some excuses over his shoulder as he searched for his jacket among all the others, leaving the small dive bar with nothing more than a few hasty goodbyes.

They were in a bar in Essen, so really, it wasn’t all that far to Benni’s place in Gelsenkirchen. Surprisingly, Mats remembered which bus to take even in his inebriated state, missing the right stop though, so now, he had to walk back all the way to his boyfriend’s apartment.

It’s a warm night, and he feels slightly too hot in his burgundy dress shirt and denim jacket, but he figures he might lose it if he took it off – he learned a few years ago that his drunk self isn’t to be trusted.

Of course, that begs the question as to why he still thinks it to be a good idea to come to a halt below Benni’s bedroom window, tilting his head to look up at it until his neck starts to hurt. But also, Mats is too far gone to really care all that much.

“Hey, Benni!”

He knows Benni won’t hear him, of course, he’s not that stupid – but he also knows that Benni always keeps his window open on summer nights, something they’ve actually argued over before, back in Sweden when Mats was getting slighty chilly shortly after midnight, so it was at least worth a try.

Nothing happens.

Mats sighs. With a huff, he fishes his phone out of his pocket. It’s difficult to text with his slow fingers, hitting the wrong buttons all the time, and eventually, he gives up. That of course leaves only one method – if he doesn’t want to get in trouble with Benni’s landlord, that is.

Now, the thing is, Mats can’t sing. Of course, he does have the vocal cords to perform an act of singing, but what leaves his mouth is less an actual, proper rendition of the only song he can remember right now – which is, quite unfortunately, Jingle Bells – and more of an old door’s shriek.

Honestly, it probably doesn’t help that he’s drunk of his ass (though this is a sobering experience in itself) and his voice is hoarse from playing table top football with the others only an hour earlier.

It takes two stanzas and just under one minute for Benni to poke his head out of his window.

“Have you gone insane?!” he hisses, before running a hand over his face, groaning. “Mats, it’s half past twelve. Do you  _ want _ me to get kicked out?”

Mats winces, but then puts on his most charming smile.

“I admit, my methods may be questionable, but, my lord, would you please let me into your castle?”

Benni rolls his eyes so hard that Mats is sure it must have hurt. He closes the window, and about thirty second later, the door buzzes and Mats is let in.

He takes two steps at a time until he reaches the second floor, where Benni’s small two-bedroom apartment is located.

His boyfriend is leaning in the doorframe in only a too-big t-shirt (that upon second glance might be Mats’) and striped boxers. His hair is a mess, but he’s smiling, and Mats’ stomach feels so warm, happiness pooling there and overflowing until it reaches every part of his body, seeps out of his fingers that don’t hesitate to seek Benni out, pulling him close, pulling him in.

“What the heck are you doing here,” Benni murmurs into Mats’ neck as Mats breathes in his scent, a combination of grapefruit shower gel, freshly washed sheets and simply Benni.

Mats kisses his hair as he pulls away gently, wincing when he realizes he must smell of alcohol and the cigarettes some idiots from another party smuggled into the bar.

“I just …”

It doesn’t happen often, that Mats is at a loss for words. But somehow, looking at Benni now, so heart-stoppingly beautiful,  _ his _ Benni, they evade him, hiding in the dark corners of the hallway, away from his sight.

So instead, he takes Benni’s hand, pulling him towards the living room, stumbling over his own feet but managing to catch himself just in time. He guides them towards the couch, sitting down and pulling on Benni’s hand until his boyfriend sits down in front of him.

“I need to tell you something.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I like you.” Okay, that was stupid, let’s start over. “I like you a lot. I like your smile, your eyes. Your freckles, I absolutely adore those, and your dry sense of humor. I like that you make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt, that you laugh at my dumb jokes when everyone else would rather I just shut up. I like your compassion, and your ambition, and the fact that you adore your stupid blue club more than any player except maybe Neuer.”

“I,” he looks Benni straight in the eyes, locking their fingers together, “I think I’m in love with you.”

There.

There it is.

At first, Benni doesn’t say anything, and for a second, Mats is genuinely worried. Then, a chuckle escapes Benni’s lips, growing into a giggle, then into warm, rumbling laughter.

Yeah, Mats is confused too.

He startles a little when there’s suddenly a hand on his cheek, thumbing over his stubble, his jaw, his cheekbones.

Benni’s eyes are earnest, sincere, and he leans in to kiss Mats on the lips despite the foul smell. They’re fond when Benni pulls away, caressing Mats’ neck.

“Oh, Mats … honey, I know. I’ve known since Sweden.”

Mats is sure he must have looked quite perplexed at that moment.

Benni chuckles again.

“I see the way you look at me. I see your fondness, I see your appreciation. I have eyes, Mats, and I can tell you look at me exactly the way I look at you.”

Oh.

Mats bites his bottom lip. Then, he a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Does that mean …?”

Benni rolls his eyes. “Yes, you idiot. I love you too. Now kiss me again.”


	6. Steno II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steno + “Let _go_ of me.” (General Audiences)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this entire thing is making me realize I have absolutely no grasp on the real distinction between General and Teen ratings

Marc hates it. He honestly, truly does.

He’s known Bernd Leno for what feels like forever, and never ever had the barely older goalkeeper not been able to make his blood boil to the point where he could hear it ringing in his ears.

There’s always been a distaste to watching him, a quiet loathing that came naturally with their rivalry, a flame that grew higher when people had started jokingly comparing them, both by their abilities as well as their looks, grew fiercer, more seething.

Marc has always hated being faced with Leno, and now, here they are, playing their first senior tournament for Germany together, number two and three (in an order that’s not even clear to Jogi Löw, apparently) behind one Manuel Neuer, a goalkeeping legend in his own right, and Marc hates that he has to share this experience with Leno.

But moreso, Marc hates how it’s not only kindred hatred he feels for the other blond, not anymore.

He has no idea when it has started, but there are  _ feelings _ now. Pesky, annoying, terrible feelings that came seemingly out of nowhere – and yes, Marc is in fact pointedly ignoring the voice at the back of his mind whispering that it’s only a small journey from hatred to something else; after all, both of them are very much intense emotions.

He hates it.

Leno is eating breakfast, and it makes Marc want to stab his pancakes. Violently. Leno is talking to Tah, smiling and gesturing, his hair unstyled and slightly curled and … yes, Marc is begrudgingly admitting it – is looking  _ cute _ .

Shocking, terrifying. Entirely unwanted. Definitely not the way one should feel about their personal atchnemesis. But that doesn’t change the fact that Marc does, and has probably since they boarded that flight to Switzerland for training camp. He’s found he started to find Leno adorable, good-looking, and god behold, he’s even caught him being  _ sweet _ at times.

Not to Marc, of course. No, never to him. For him, Bernd only had icy glances, sneers and annoyed huffs. And while at first that had been welcomed, as it had been all those years, by now, Marc finds that it stings each time Leno’s smile turns into a frown when Marc enters his field of view, finds that himself wondering what it would feel like to be at the receiving end on one of those sunshine smiles instead. Heck, he’s started to wish for it, even.

God, he’s a mess. A bumbling, idiotic mess with a goddamn  _ crush _ – on Leno, of all people.

Marc is pretty sure that someone up there is currently laughing at him. This could happen only to him, truly. And now he’s not only stuck with the petty, annoying outrage mixed with a good bit of jealousy and annoyance with Leno, but also struck with noticing how pretty his eyelashes are, how much he loves it when his hair is soft after a shower. He marvels at the way Leno’s voice sounds, appreciates the way his training shirt stretches over his biceps.

Sure, Marc has always been aware that men interest him as well, but – him?! Really, universe?

But as it is, stabbing his pancake once again, until it looks like a mushy lump more than anything else, he knows that at this point, there’s nothing he can do about it.

Mario, next to him, is sending him concerned glances.

“You okay?” he asks, and Marc only grunts, almost disbelieving of what Bernd Leno’s presence has reduced him to.

Honestly, he shouldn’t even be surprised when it only gets worse once they have to turn up for training. Manuel keeps shooting him curious looks (or are they simply confused?) as if Marc’s ambivalent feelings were so obviously painted on his features that it’s a miracle that Bernd himself hasn’t picked up on it yet.

– and that’s another thing. For a few days already, Marc has been able to catch himself slipping, thinking of the idiot by his first rather than his last name. It’s such a stupid name, old-fashioned and really not for a young goalkeeper, but it suits the idiot, it really does.

Marc wants to kiss him.

Yes, he actually wants that. Yes, it scares him too. Leno has very pretty lips. Thin but delightfully pink, as if he was always chewing on them. Marc thinks of them often, and even for his annoyed, flustered brain, that thought is usually a bit too much.

Especially now, when he keeps staring at Leno’s mouth as he’s whispering to Tah once again. Manuel, on his right, elbows him into the side, quirking an eyebrow. And yeah, he should really pay attention to what Löw is saying, he knows that, but looking at Leno is just so much more interesting now; so, he keeps doing it.

It’s only three minutes later, when Löw is almost done, that it ends in disaster – Leno catches him staring.

Immediately, Marc can feel the blood rush to his cheeks as Leno musters him with scrutiny. He has to turn his head away to hide his blush – Mario, on his left, probably has noticed, but at least Marc is sure the younger could have no idea what’s actually going on; or at least, he hopes so. This is so embarrassing, he doesn’t even want to picture how it would be admitting this crush to someone.

Of course, that’s not all of it.

As soon as they return back to the goal, Manuel walking ahead with Andi Köpke, Leno next to Marc, it gets brought up again.

“What’s your deal, ter Stegen?”

Marc blanks.

“I mean,” Leno coughs awkwardly, “I know you’re weird, but you’re acting even weirder than usual.”

Marc blatantly ignores the insult, then simply shrugs. “I don’t know why you assume that’s any of your business. Newsflash: it’s not.”

He hates this. Hates that for a second, Bernd looks actually concerned about him. Hates how it makes his heart skip, that treacherous, silly heart.

“Hey,” Leno puts a hand on his arm. Violently, Marc janks it out of his grip.

“Let  _ go _ of me,” he hisses, something in him shattering when he sees how Leno’s face falls, regret flooding over him like a spring tide, and for the first time in his life, he wants to apologize to him.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, not after the way they’ve treated each other for so many years, from hurling insults to ignorance to borderline fistfights – but yet, he hopes that his eyes show his remorse plainly. 

He wants him to know.

Leno takes a deep breath. “Alright, then. Sorry for trying to care.” And with a huff, he stomps away, taking ridiculously long strides with those ridiculously long legs to catch up with Andi and Manuel.

And Marc, Marc is left behind, wishing he could reach out and lace their fingers together. Wishes he could mumble an apology and give his biggest rival a hug. He pictures what that would feel like, how it would come to be, sees them being caring towards another, supportive, bickering; and it’s then that he realizes.

He would do anything for that to become an actual possibility. And from now on, he  _ will _ do anything to make it become a reality.

He likes Leno. Bernd.

And he fiercely, desperately wants him to know that – even if it’s in the face of rejection. But even more so, he hopes that the kindness the older has shown him if only for a moment … he hopes that it means that he’s not alone in this.

God, he really hopes that he isn’t.


	7. Hömmels II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hömmels + “What was that noise?” (General Audiences)

It happened on a stormy Wednesday night. It was January, and since winter break was one of the rare times they actually got to spend together these days, Mats and Benni had snuggled up on the couch, with Mats’ head on Benni’s shoulder and Benni’s hand playing with Mats hair as Mats was softly reading to him from a magazine.

It was cosy, comfortable, a quiet night like it was rare for them now since they were living in different cities, different countries. A late Christmas gift for both of them, and an early birthday gift for Benni.

And as they were sitting there, with the wind roaring outside, rustling the trees and making the windows tremble every now and then, creating a space inside that felt more like home than most things in their hectic lives, Mats startled when Benni’s gentle caresses stopped suddenly and immediately.

He tilted his head up ever so slightly, putting the magazine to the side, peering at his husband from underneath his dark curls.

Benni was looking out of the windows, eyes squinted ever so slightly, as if trying to make out something in the all-swallowing darkness of the night.

“Did you hear that?”

Mats frowned. “What do you mean?”

“There was a scratch, I think. Different than the wind. Closer, too.” He was still staring outside intensely, not even flinching when Mats scrambled into a sitting position, fumbling for his glasses where he’d left them on the coffee table.

He tilted his head, waiting, trying to make out anything but the howling of the storm, and then–

“There. There was it again. Did you hear it? What was that noise?”

Benni was right.

In between the groaning of the trees, the rustling of month-old leaves on the ground and the rain hitting their windows, there had been something. A scratch, a creak, as if someone – something – was trying to work their door open.

Mats felt his blood freeze in his veins. “Oh god, Benni, I think someone’s trying to rob us.”

He wasn’t proud of it, but Mats had never been the one to keep a clear head in a situation like this. Not like this had happened to him before, mind you, but sadly, he wasn’t in the least surprised that it was Benni taking the lead here.

“I don’t think so. But get your phone and go in the kitchen, just in case, okay? I’ll give you a sign if you need to call the police.”

Mats nodded, too troubled to reply. He almost dropped his phone as he picked it up, but in the end he managed to store it safely in his back pocket. Slowly he retreated to the kitchen through the back of the living room, suddenly glad that the lights had been dimmed to create a cozier atmosphere – this way, if anyone was watching them, they might not have noticed him slipping away.

With his stomach churning, he observed quietly as Benni was crouching down, picking up an object from next to the coffee table; only on second glance did he recognize the bottle of wine they had shared earlier. His heart was drumming against his ribcage while be watched from the shadows as his husband crept up to the door – slowly, carefully, trying to stay out of sight.

‘Be careful, Ben. Please, just be careful,’ he thought, his guts twisting into knots, gripping his phone so tight that he feared it might shatter in his hand.

He almost had a heart attack, when suddenly, Benni yanked open the door. With a scream dying in his throat before it could even escape, he charged forward, ready to come to his husband’s rescue – stopping short when suddenly, Benni fell down on his knees, putting the wine bottle down carefully, extending his hand into the dark, not even paying Mats any attention.

“Hey,” he whispered into the dark, “hi there. What are you doing outside in this weather, don’t you have someone dry and warm to go?”

There was a meow. Quiet and pitiful, followed by the tiny noises of small claws clacking on the flagstones in front of their back door, and Mats was still stunned into silence as Benni bent down picking the cat – kitten? – up and lifting it up in his arms before kicking the door close behind him.

The dark brown tabby looked, for the lat of a better word, exactly like you would expect a cat left out in the rain to look.

It had big green eyes that it was blinking up at Mats, and with a chuckle, Benni followed its gaze, a smile forming on his lips as he saw that his husband was observing the two of them quietly. The kitten tried to escape his arms at first, wiggling around, but then immediately snuggling into Benni’s chest, leaving a wet spot on his shirt, seeking protection as Mats took a few more steps towards them.

Benni petted the cat’s head, and from here, Mats could hear that it had started to purr.

“Don’t worry. That’s just Mats. He’s harmless. Most days, at least.” He beckoned Mats closer. “Come, take a look. She’s really sweet. A little sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Mats had never had a cat before. He wasn’t even a cat person, not one of those who bent down to pet any feline that passed through their way; but there was something about the helplessness of this tiny little creature, the way she so eagerly was accepting Benni’s comfort and went to sniff at Mats’ hand curiously before rubbing her head against it, purring louder, that made a hidden compartment in his heart open, as if unlocked with an inaudible click.

“Hey there,” Mats whispered, exchanging a look with Benni before gently scratching her head, “Hi, hello. I’m Mats. Nice to meet you, young lady.”

The cat meowed at him, and Mats chuckled.

No, this was a lot better than a burglar.

(The next morning, after letting her sleep on a nest of blankets on the couch, they took their little visitor to the nearest vet. After finding that she was unchipped, it hadn’t even been a decision before Mats decided to take her in, finding that he wouldn’t mind caring for her evem when Benni would leave and he’d be all on his own again.

Of course, Benni had immediately agreed that some company would do him some good. And it had been him who gave their new cat her name. From that day on, little Storm had a new home. And Mats?

Mats didn’t mind sharing it with her.)


	8. Draxlinter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draxlinter + “What was that noise?” (Mature)

It’s a lavish spring morning and the sky is tinted in beautiful pastel hues outside of their Hamburg hotel, but Matze and Julian are paying hardly any attention to it.

They’ve left the curtains open and the window is ajar too, just enough so that the song of the birds in the trees is just barely audible, and that the air in the room smells subtly fragrant and fresh. 

It’s seven in the morning, and this is one of the few times the two lovers have the privilege of waking up together. Sometimes, Matze is envious of those who can do this more often; but then again, he knows that he just has to treasure the little time with Julian that he gets. And usually, for them, that means International Break and maybe a few additional weekends over the course of the year.

As of now, Julian is sound asleep on his chest, his breath hitting Matze’s skin in soft little gusts, their heartbeats pressed tightly against each other, beating in the same rhythm.

Matze has his hand on Julian’s back, gently brushing his fingers over it in circular motions. He doesn’t often feel as calm and grounded as when he’s with Julian, he thinks. Moments like these might be rare, but they’ve become one of the things Matze is always looking forward the most … he’s yearning, almost, for his lover to be back in his arms whenever he goes for too long without it. Without him.

He shakes his head to himself. A few years ago, he would never have been able to imagine this – and now, despite his life without Julian being almost perfect, too, he doesn’t even wanna think about having to miss this.

He tightens his arms around Julian’s strong but lithe frame just a little bit more.

It takes a few minutes longer until Julian finally stirs underneath his touch. He squints up at Matze with one eye open, lips already twisting into a mischievous grin even when he’s still almost asleep.

His hair is always the softest, fluffiest when he wakes up in the mornings – perfect chocolate brown ringlets in the shape of an artfully tousled bird’s nest perched on top of his head, perfect for Matze to run his fingers through. Before he can, though, Julian groans a little, hauling himself up until his face is right in front of Matze’s, his grin even wider than before.

“Morning,” he mumbles, and doesn’t even give Matze a chance to reply. Instead, he pushes against his lips, uniting them in a kiss that feels like completion, and Matze doesn’t hesitate to return it with an urgency that’s surprising even to himself.

Julian chuckles. “ _Really_ good morning then. Hi, baby.” He’s grinning, and his hand, cheeky as it is, has already found its way underneath the sheets, finding Matze’s chest, stroking it lightly, which feels like he’s casting sparks from his fingertips.

Matze bites down on his bottom lip before the whine can slip through his lips.

It’s almost a bit embarrassing, how Julian has the ability to get him worked up so quickly, but yet, he would never complain about it. He pants when his lover starts placing his lips all over his torso, wandering down, licking, sucking, letting his hands roam and his eyes wander.

Yes, there truly is nothing better than this.

They’re not always the type for long, drawn-out foreplay, not when they often don’t have enough time before they’re rushed away to a training session, a team meeting, a meal or a game. Unlike some of their (former) teammates, they – especially Matze – aren’t fond of doing it in spaces that aren’t the safety of their hotel room, so the time they are given together is even more limited.

But, it’s early, and thus, he doesn’t worry when Julian, gently but insistently nudges his arm, making him turn until he’s laying on his side, trembling with restrained lust as Julian scoots closer, his body naked and warm and familiar, his awakened interest pressing against Matze’s ass.

Oh, _yes_.

Julian kisses his shoulder, then his neck, then his jaw, urging Matze to turn his head just so that they can smash their mouths together, every trace of gentle sleepiness out of the window now, and they’re making out as the first sunlight illuminates their union.

Matze gasps quietly when Julian wraps his hand around his manhood as he pushes in in a surprisingly gentle matter, his eyes fluttering shut.

Truly, there is nothing better than this.

During their lovemaking, the silence feels different, as if it’s vibrating, pooling in every corner, every crook that there is in the room, filling every crevice. Matze has come to love it this way, how intimate it is when they’re just quietly enjoying each other, coming together, becoming one–

They both freeze at the same time.

There has been a creak outside, loud and obvious, as if someone was leaning against their door. 

Matze can feel his eyes widen, his ass clenching around Julian’s dick.

“What was that noise?” he whisper-shouts, a bout of panic washing over him, that’s soothed just barely by Julian gently rubbing his shoulder as he turns around, their lovemaking suddenly forgotten but yet so prominent on their minds. Julian’s eyes are alert, his eyebrows drawn tightly together.

They’re both fearing the same thing.

This hotel’s doors don’t lock on their own, and it’s not unheard that players just burst into their teammate’s rooms. A room that Julian shouldn’t even be laying in, nevermind sharing Matze’s bed, holding him in his arms.

(You’d think they’d gotten more careful after that debacle with Manuel.)

But also, it’s not even seven in the morning, and neither of them had thought that this could ever happen.

It can’t happen.

The door creaks again. Matze’s breath gets caught in his throat. Nothing happens. Then, footsteps outside quietly move away. He can feel Julian’s sigh of relief against his back, and when he shuffles around until they’re face to face, he can feel his hands tremble.

Slowly, very slowly, a grin creeps onto Julian’s thin lips. His smiles have always been radiant, what made him the most beautiful and just so much more soft than the sleek, focused personality he so often presents – and even when Matze thought he can’t love him any more, he does.

“Oh my god,” Julian wheezes then, suddenly giggling, his shoulders shaking, transferring the tremours to Matze’s skin, “that was a close one.”

He’s right, Matze knows, and he knows that at the beginning of their relationship, a close call like this would have spooked him to the bone and made him anxious for days – not anymore, though. Not when things are alright, and he’s got a smiling Julian Draxler in his arms.

They go down to breakfast together, and things are just how they’re supposed to be – now they only need to go ahead and win the game that evening, too.


	9. Steno III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steno + “You aren’t the boss of me.” (Teen)

It was nothing.

Yeah, so Bernd had fallen on his hand yesterday, so what. It was fine, the doctors had said so. Sure, they’d also advised him to take it it easy, and rest it should it get worse. But it hadn’t been an order per se, so, if he was feeling fine, there was no reason to cut back in training.

And he was. Feeling fine, that is. Honestly.

Okay, sometimes there was the ever so slight twinge, a tiny sting as if someone had, only for a few seconds, jammed a needle into the back of his hand – but Marc-André ter Stegen didn’t know that. So why that prick was constantly going on about being more careful, Bernd had no idea. Surely Marc of all people should know that that wasn’t an option. Not when Jogi had, for the first time in forever, very tentatively, suggested that there was a chance he might start him for the next friendly. Not when Bernd was so painfully clearly the number three or at times even the number four behind Kevin, and this might be one of the only chances he’d get on a country level in the next few months, if not years.

Of course, Marc, second-in-line and direct competitor to the throne, the almost-usurper, was not aware of how much this meant to Bernd.

Prick.

Bernd got ready to jump, catching the ball Andi sent at him with easy, gritting his teeth when the sting came and went, lowering his eyes quickly when he noticed Marc staring in his direction again.

He was fine _._

Except then, lunch break came around, and as they were all under the shower, Marc didn’t stop sending him these annoyingly concerned looks. Bernd pointedly ignored him, and instead picked up a conversation with Julian, catching up with him, which he honestly hadn’t done in way too long. 

He missed his younger friend quite a bit sometimes. It wasn’t like his teammates in London weren’t nice, but it still was different from the close friends he’d found at Leverkusen, where everything had been on a smaller scale, felt more familiar. There was always a nostalgia to returning to the National Team and meeting up with people he had been used to seeing every other day. At Arsenal, there was no other German international anymore, and sometimes, he’d admit readily – he missed it.

Julian laughed at something Kai said, and Bernd grinned along as he rubbed his hair dry with a towel, being mindful that he used the other, non-injured hand.

At first, it didn’t even really register when Marc caught him by the elbow as he walked back into the dressing room.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

Marc’s eyebrows were drawn tightly together, and lines had appeared on his forehead. 

Bernd taxed him with a glare, but to his credit, Marc didn’t retreat one bit. In moments like these, Bernd missed the times where they were so wary of each other that a touch like this, soft and gentle and so overly concerned wouldn’t happen in the first place.

He was _fine._

“Fine,” he grunted, yanking his elbow free.

The creases on Marc’s forehead deepened.

“You clearly aren’t, Bernd. Why are you being so stubborn? I’ll go tell Andi you’ll take the afternoon session off. It would be better if you spent it in the gym instead of overtaxing your hand.”

Oh, that little bitch–

“You aren’t the boss of me!”

Okay, maybe his voice was a little too harsh, and suddenly, Bernd hated the way Marc flinched at his words, then slowly retreated, turned around and walked away.

Immediately and suddenly, Bernd felt a crack running through his heart. 

Fuck.

He’d done this all wrong, hadn’t he.

Things were complicated at the moment, they both knew this. They weren’t enemies anymore, yet they were still professional rivals. They’ve long been past the honeymoon phase of their relationship, past the times where they hardly could keep their hands off each other, and keeping their love aflame took work, many hours of phone calls, and a baseline of respect for each other that had, in the end, taken years to build after an entire youth of seething mutual animosity.

Sometimes, when they were far away from each other, it grew hard to remember that Marc actually cared.

But now, Marc’s actions hadn’t been the doing of his rival, trying to get him to pause so that Bernd would fall behind in training, no – Bernd had shoved him away, both physically and verbally, when Marc had simply tried to be a good boyfriend.

_Fuck._

Bernd clenched his fists at his side. When he looked up, almost everyone was looking at him. Perfect. As if it wasn’t enough that he’d hurt Marc, he’d also aired their relationship drama to the entire dressing room. 

A few feet away, Manuel lifted an eyebrow at him.

“You better go fix that,” he said, his ‘captain voice’ so different from the almost shy guy he was off the pitch, and Bernd ducked his head between his shoulders, nodding. He couldn’t look the senior keeper in the eyes as he shouldered past, breaking into a run as soon as he was through the door.

Ahead, he could see Marc’s figure just slipping through the big doors to the cafeteria.

“Marc,” he yelled, “wait for me!”

He didn’t. Bernd couldn’t fault him, so he increased his pace, reaching the doors just as Marc reached the buffet. He came to a halt next to him seconds later, panting. Luckily, Marc didn’t shove him away. Instead, he smiled at the barista who just passed him his coffee, before walking over to one of the tables.

Somehow, Bernd had a feeling that he was okay with him joining him, so he hastily sat down, before glancing over his shoulders as he reached out, engulfing Marc’s free hand in between his own.

“Hey. I’m. I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was irritated by the hand, and I didn’t…” he chewed on his bottom lip. He rarely felt this reluctant, but he was afraid that Marc would now hold a grudge against him – and rightfully so.

“Words, Bernd. Use them.” Marc’s tone was almost completely flat, but Bernd could see the corner of his mouth twitching fondly.

“You just wanted to help. I’m sorry I didn’t realize. You’re – you were right, I should probably take the afternoon off.”

Now, the smile on Marc’s lips blossomed fully, and with a motion that was so familiar, so heart-achingly comforting, he linked their fingers together, thumbing over the back of Bernd’s hand.

“Apology accepted. I know it’s difficult when we’re working, but I’m your boyfriend long before I’m your rival. Especially in moments like this. Always.”

And damn that idiot for being so damn sappy. No, Bernd wasn’t holding back a happy tear. Not at all.

(He totally was.)


	10. Nüle II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nüle + “Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes.” (Teen)

The horrifying crack that’s the sound when a football boot hits bone will never be something any player ever gets used to. Alex has heard it before, they all have – but as his eyes grow wide, horrified by the events he’s witnessing from his place on the bench, this time twists so much deeper in his stomach, because the player being hit is Nikki.

His Nikki.

Alex sees him fall like a big tree that has been cut down, a force of nature; but the only thing that matters to him is the emotions, the fear, the pain so evident on his gentle features.

He doesn’t even attempt to stop the noise that escapes his throat only milliseconds after the incident, loud and crackling like lightning striking wood. It doesn’t sound remotely human, but Alex doesn’t care, not when the blood starts gushing out of his boyfriend’s knee – his problem knee – like water flowing through a stream, staining the turf red.

Alex has reached him even before the paramedics do, but after quickly cradling Nikki’s face in his hands, watching his boyfriend trying to reach out for him as he flickers out of consciousness, he’s up on his feet again, rage taking over.

Later, he can’t really recall what happened after that. Only that he realizes that Manu and Sven yanking him back by his shoulders, two hands gloved and two hands bare pulling him away from their opponent’s central striker, who probably, if his fellow keepers hadn’t stopped him, would be sporting more than one black eye by now.

Manu’s talking into his ear, trying to calm him down, but Alex can feel his blood still roaring in his ears. It doesn’t stop when the referee shows him a red card for his actions – but that doesn’t affect him further either. Instead, he turns around, just catching the last glimpse of the paramedics carrying Nikki out on a stretcher. Being sent off anyway, he now is allowed to rush after him.

Technically. Probably.

Honestly, he doesn’t give a shit.

Some staff members send him confused looks as he rushes to the dressing room as fast as he can, telling the paramedics to wait for him – he’ll ride in that ambulance if he’ll have to pay another fine or not.

They have to wait for the ambulance for about ten minutes. The paramedics and the team doctors are still all bowed over Nikki’s knee, but Alex is holding his hand. At this point, no one is asking any questions as to why, so it’s Alex who is there when Nikki slowly blinks his eyes open, letting out a little cry of pain immediately.

Alex clutches his hand tighter, lifting it to pressing a kiss on it.

“Hey there, baby bean. How are you feeling?”

Nikki barely manages to crack a smile.

“Shitty. Fuck, babe, it hurts.”

Alex thumbs over the back of his hand. “I know. I’m sorry. It will be okay. You’ll be okay.”

God, he knows how much this will frustrate Nikki. This is not his first run-in with a wrecked knee, and they both know that this time it will take even longer to heal – and who knows what else might be fucked up. But they have the best doctors there are, and they will manage. They will, right? Alex doesn’t even want to think about what will happen if they don’t.

“How bad is it?” Nikki’s voice is small, almost broken, and Alex’ heart aches. Quickly, he glances down the hallway, but there’s no one else there, no cameras, no journalists, so he lifts his free hand, caressing his boyfriend’s cheek.

Nikki doesn’t do well with seeing blood. Not even when it’s just a little drop, though he always manages to overplay it well. But now, with his knee split open … yeah, that would be an issue. So, Alex squeezes his hand, trying to send him an encouraging smile.

“If they make you sit up, whatever you do, don’t open your eyes. Don’t look down, okay?”

Nikki winces. “That bad, huh?” He throws his left arm over his eyes, crying out again when they start cleaning the wound.

Alex scoots closer up to him, his hand not stopping its caresses.

“I’ll be there for you, bean. Always.”

He gets a pained half-smile in response. 

“I hope you left a hair on the other guy.”

Alex scoffs. Damn his cute centre-back and how well he knows him already. He’s not used to it, to being so well known; especially not after only half a year of relationship. But yet, it feels incredible. Special. Comforting. He looks down at Nikki, the tenseness in his broad shoulders, his warm smile, his eyebrows drawn together in pain and with his eyes still sparkling.

God, he loves him.

Then, a grin tugs at Alex’ lips.

“Well, he was still walking when Manu and Sven pulled me away.”

And despite the pain, Nikki chuckles, gently squeezing Alex’ hand right back.

It’s a sound Alex never wants to stop hearing.


	11. Neuller III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neuller + “Move out of my way before I make you.” (Teen)

Look, it has been a shit game. They know that. Thomas knows it more than most of them, what with all his attempts on target either being unsuccessful, or, infuriatingly, hitting the crossbar. But in the end, the meager one goal they managed to scratch together is still nothing compared to the four they conceded.  _ Four. _

Unsurprisingly, Manu is pissed. His eyes are cold, ablaze with a dangerous blue fire, teeth clenched, with rage surely bubbling in his stomach only waiting to burst out. 

He’s a volcano ready to erupt, and, Thomas thinks, their defence is doing good by avoiding him for as long as they can. After showering, they’ve scrambled to the far corner of the dressing room, huddling together, talking quietly among themselves. They look crushed, and Thomas can only relate to the feeling.

Just as he wants to walk over to them and give them a few encouraging words as Nikki’s eyes grow wide when their captain walks – no, stomps – through the door, looking ready to kill. Lucas and David seem almost equally apprehensive; only Jo has raised his chin defiantly, that crazy little bastard.

Thomas sighs.

It’s well known amongst the team that he is the only one who dares to approach Manu when he’s in a mood like this, and certainly the only one with the ability to calm him down. Getting up, he rubs his hands against his sweatpants and takes a few steps towards his husband.

He puts a hand on Manu’s shoulder before the older one has a chance to plant himself in front of the defenders, flinching a little bit when Manu whips his head around to now glare at him, instead. Thomas gently kneads Manu’s shoulder, looming dread pooling in his stomach when it doesn’t make their captain look any more placid at all.

At first, he wants to talk to him in a quiet voice, to offer a distraction, but Manu is still glaring at him, eyebrows drawn tightly together, mouth tense.

“Manu?” Thomas asks, realizing that this time, calming down the storm brewing might not be as easy as usual, “is everything alright?”

His suspicion is confirmed only seconds later, when Manu basically  _ growls _ at him. 

“Thommy, I swear to god. Move out of my way before I make you.”

And okay, that’s – that’s different.

Thomas would be lying if he claimed the coarseness of Manus’ tone, his assertiveness didn’t send a shiver down his spine, but as it is, he just so manages to keep his composure, offering his goalkeeper a tight nod, letting his hand slip away. Letting him go.

It’s not pretty.

Thomas is convinced that all the defenders feel at least one foot shorter once Manu has finished his tirade, more or less shouting at them for the better part of ten minutes, with everyone else scrambling out of the room as fast as they can. 

Thomas himself observes it all from his own locker with bemusement, respect and something awfully close to appreciative desire. 

At some point, Lisa texts him some new information on a pregnant mare of theirs, so he gets distracted to the point where he doesn’t even realize when Manu’s torrent of words stops, startling only when his husband drops down next to him on the bench with a grunt.

His expression has eased, at last, and now, he simply looks exhausted, slightly grumpy, and a little more defeated than generally Thomas likes him to.

Pocketing his phone, Thomas feels a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “Did that help?”

Manu groans, running his hand over his face, tousling his hair until it sticks out at odd angles. He shrugs quitely, then suddenly and unpromptedly drops his head on Thomas’ shoulder. He hums when Thomas lifts a hand to scratch his scalp, and while Thomas massages the worries away as well as he can, they just sit there quietly. 

In leaving, Nikki cast the two of them another look. He’s gnawing on his bottom lip, and his cheeks are still reddened with what’s probably embarrassment, easing up a bit only when Thomas nods at him, managing a small smile before rushing after the others.

Then, they’re alone.

“You scared the kids quite a bit there, babe.”

Manu huffs. “They’ll be fine. I just, um – had to let that out.” He shrugs again, a small motion against Thomas side when his shoulder rises and falls.

Thomas grins. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it was kinda hot.”

When Manu blinks up at him with wide eyes, Thomas only winks.

“Hmm.” Manu blushes, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. “Well, don’t get used to it,” he grumbles as he gets up with a groan, reaching for his gym bag. “You coming?”

And when Thomas gets up, grabbing his own bag and then taking the hand Manu has extended, waiting for him, he knows that things will be just fine.

There will always be games that they lose. But for Thomas, there’s always a Manu waiting for him. And honestly, most days, that’s all he needs.

(But even he can’t deny that wins usually leave a better taste in his mouth.)

**Author's Note:**

> I write FICTION about real people. None of this is intended to harm them or their reputation in any way. Please leave kudos and maybe a comment if you liked it! | [tumblr](http://manuelmueller.tumblr.com/)


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